Demonizing

My mom always told me not to demonize people. So I first saw the demon at school. It was introduced as a new student, Asqrzkxt. It went tearing up and down the halls, causing havoc and chaos everywhere. In the restrooms, it blocked up the commodes and scrawled lewd messages all over the walls, although no one noticed any difference. In the cafeteria, it tore the hair nets off the lunch ladies, tripped kids in the lunch line, and widdled in the macaroni and cheese, which admittedly was an improvement.

"Mom!" I cried when I got home from school. "There's a new kid in my class, and it's a demon! Its name is Asqrzkxt!"

"Johnny!" she scolded. "How many times have I told you not to demonize people!"

So I told her about the demon's destructive behavior. Mom shook her head disapprovingly.

"From that," she said, "how do you conclude that little Asqrzkxt is a demon?"

Ok, I had to admit that was perfectly normal behavior for a kid his age.

"But the giveaway," I said, "is the horns. It's got horns. And a tail. And cloven hooves."

"You mustn't call people 'it,'" replied Mom. Rather irrelevantly, I thought.

Well, wouldn't you know. Asqrzkxt showed up next at church. It howled through the sermon, screeched during the hymns, and pulled the minister's pants down. Then it possessed Sarah Smithers.

"Now do you believe me?" I asked Mom.

"Just high spirits," she said.

"What about the possession?" I asked, as Sarah spewed pea soup.

"Probably something the poor girl ate," countered Mom.

"It walks like a demon, quacks like a demon, and possesses like a demon," I replied. "It's a demon."

"Johnny, how many times have I told you not to demonize people?" Mom repeated for the I don't know how many-eth time.

But when it really is a demon, that's not demonizing. It's reporting.